Following his conversation with Leeza, Madison felt that he should make the most of his time together with his family. With so few patients to be seen, on a forced vacation that could turn out to be permanent, he involved himself in every aspect of the children’s activities. Each time he would catch a phrase that Elliott would come up with, or observe the look of excitement in Jonah’s eyes with the discovery of something new, the horrifying thought that he might not get to see them grow up invaded his emotions and brought an instant choking sensation to his chest.
Fifteen to life, he kept hearing in his head. The stakes were high…higher than he had prepared himself for, worse than he had ever imagined. Two to six was bad enough. But life? A gulp of air would help relieve the pressure in his chest, but it would be only a temporary fix.
However, when Chandler informed him of the information he had obtained from Stanton this morning, all of their spirits appeared to be buoyed. As they sat around the table preparing to eat their Subway sandwiches, Chandler explained to them how this could fit into the trial and Hellman’s planned defense of “someone else did it.”
More importantly, they knew who that someone else was. The more they dug, Chandler was saying, the greater the likelihood that they would find something of use.
Having been given the day off from his factory job due to scheduled maintenance on the equipment, Ricky was invited over to the Madisons’ for lunch.
“Thanks for calling him,” Madison told Leeza.
“I just figured with all that’s been going on, you haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“I feel awful. I shouldn’t have let that happen. My parents said he was angry with me for neglecting him.”
“You had a lot of stuff on your plate, Phil. I explained that to him yesterday when I called. At least he’s here with us now. Look at him,” she said, motioning to Ricky running around the backyard with Scalpel and the boys. “He’s in heaven.”
Ricky’s thick-tongued speech was difficult to interpret at times. He often became frustrated when he could not adequately communicate, and due to the difficulty expressing his true feelings, he would yell, throw something against the wall, or cry, depending on how frustrated he became at the time.
After Leeza called everyone to the kitchen table, they unwrapped their sandwiches. Ricky took a swig of his soda, leaving a film of brown foam on his face. He wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. “Want th’ome?” he said, offering his drink to Chandler.
Elliott jumped out of his seat. “No, Uncle Ricky. Mom says you’re not supposed to share your drink. It’s got germs, right, Mom?”
“That’s right, Elliott.” Leeza turned to Ricky. “That was nice of you to offer, but I’ll get Ryan a can of his own.” As she brought a plate of pickles and Chandler’s soda over to the table, she asked, “Do you think we’ll have enough evidence to get Phil off?”
Chandler popped open his Coke Zero. “All we need is enough to create reasonable doubt. As long as there’s a hint of doubt in the jury’s minds, they’re not supposed to convict him.”
“What are our chances?” Leeza asked.
“That’s really a question best answered by Jeffrey. But I think we’re on the right track.” He picked up his sandwich and held it a couple of inches from his mouth, preparing to take a bite. “I just wish I had stronger evidence linking Harding to the crime. If I could only place her in the car somehow.” He took a huge bite of his pastrami hero.
“But there weren’t any fingerprints in the car except Phil’s, right?” Leeza asked.
Chandler nodded while his jaw swayed to and fro, trying to negotiate the enormous bite he had taken.
Leeza brought a few more napkins over to the table. “So if her fingerprints weren’t there, how else do we place her in the car?”
“Finding something belonging to her would certainly help,” Madison said.
“How about strands of hair,” Leeza asked. “Did they find any of her hair in the car?”
“Mm-mm,” Chandler managed, shaking his head “no.”
“Then what else would be there if she was driving the car?” she asked. “An article of clothing-”
Chandler’s eyes became round and large, as if he were choking. He held up an index finger and gestured while he struggled to rapidly chew his food and swallow. He munched animatedly, while Leeza looked at Madison, who was staring at Chandler.
“What?” Madison asked. “You have an idea?”
He nodded affirmatively and swallowed hard. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers.
“Ryan, what’re you thinking?” Leeza asked. Chandler didn’t answer, so she turned to Madison. “What’s he got?”
Madison shrugged.
“Can you connect me to Kurt Gray in Trace Evidence?” Chandler asked turned to the Madisons and covered the mouthpiece. “The cans. There might be-hello, Kurt? This is Ryan Chandler… Yeah, Lou’s friend, the Madison case. Listen, those beer cans that were found in the backseat of the Mercedes-have they been examined for saliva?” Chandler smiled and looked over to Madison. “Yeah, saliva. I’ll bet you find some. Where have the cans been stored?… Excellent…Well, you’re going to find that the DNA in that saliva will not match the DNA of the suspected driver of that vehicle… No, I told you, the driver was not Phillip Madison.”
Chandler stood there listening to Gray speak when suddenly the enthusiasm drained from his face. “Jennings? Bill Jennings is on this case?” Chandler squared his shoulders and refocused himself. “Well, regardless of Jennings’s opinions, I’d appreciate it if you’d run the tests.”
Shaking his head out of frustration, he placed a hand on his hip. “Fine, check with Lou. Can you put me through to him?” Chandler tapped his foot on the floor and waited. “Lou, Chandler. I stumbled onto something that may clear my client. I just ran it by Gray, but he was less than enthusiastic about it… Yeah, would you?”
Chandler nodded a couple of times. “Fine, get it cleared through the DA. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake… Thanks, man. I’ll call you in a few days.”
As he hung up the phone, Leeza spoke. “Saliva? How is that going to-”
“DNA,” Chandler said. “It’s contained in all our bodily fluids-blood, semen, and saliva. And everyone’s DNA is different, like a fingerprint. If we can identify the DNA in the saliva on the beer cans, it’ll tell us the genetic makeup of that individual-the one who was driving the car and drinking the beer.”
“If we’re assuming the cans belonged to Harding, why weren’t her fingerprints on them?” Leeza asked.
“There were a few sets of smudged prints, but nothing we could use to make an identification.”
“Do you think there’s enough saliva to run the tests?” Madison asked.
“First we have to see if there’s any on the cans. If she drank the beer, for sure there’ll be enough. If she didn’t drink it, and just poured it out in the sink, we’re shit out of luck. But if she took a couple of swigs while emptying it into the sink…”
“Then we’ve got her?” Leeza asked.
Chandler nodded. “I think so. We’ll have to wait and see.” He started to pace the kitchen.
“But why would she take a swig of beer while emptying it?” Leeza asked.
“Maybe she likes beer, so she took a few swigs and emptied the rest down the drain. Maybe she drank all of it.”
“But she wouldn’t drink the beer,” Leeza said. “That’d be taking an awfully big chance.”
Chandler was shaking his head. “To her, she wasn’t taking any chances at all. Despite the popularity of shows like CSI, the average person doesn’t think like a forensic scientist. And a criminal doesn’t always think everything through-or even know what he or she should be thinking about. And they tend not to be the brightest bulb in the fixture. It probably never crossed Harding’s mind that the police would investigate her, let alone test for saliva on the beer cans and use the DNA to match it to her.”
“Would the saliva still be usable after this much time?” Madison asked.
“Sure. After blood and semen, saliva’s the best medium to get DNA from. And aside from fingerprints, DNA’s at least as reliable, if not more so, than conventional forensic tests. For one thing, it’s a more stable molecule than the proteins and enzymes that we’ve used in forensics for years. The problems with DNA come when you have a very small sample to work with, or if the evidence is mishandled. Like if it’s left in direct sunlight in front of a window. But even then, the glass from the window filters out most of the harmful UV. If it’s been stored at room temperature, it should be fine.”
“Was it?” Madison asked.
“From what Gray told me, the beer cans were stored properly. You’ve got a well-respected lab here in Sacramento. And saliva generally provides a big enough sample, so if Gray’s right, there should be close to zero chance of contamination.”
Everyone sat there for a moment, trying to put it all in perspective. Ricky looked at everyone, wondering why they had all fallen silent. “What’th D-DA?”
“D-N-A,” Madison said. “It’s part of what makes your skin, your bones, your face. It’s sort of like a code that Mom and Dad gave us.”
He nodded, perhaps understanding some of it, enough to satisfy his curiosity. Then, “Ith that what made me retarded?”
Madison glanced at Leeza, gave her a look like, how did I step into that one? “That’s what caused the Down syndrome. Yes.”
“But,” Leeza said, “because everyone’s DNA is different, it makes each of us special. You’re special, just like Phil and Ryan and I are special.”
“You’re the one who gave me the idea of checking for the DNA,” Chandler said. “You may’ve saved your brother’s life.”
Ricky smiled.
“How long till we get those results from the lab?” Madison asked Chandler.
“It’s faster than it used to be, but their lab’s understaffed. Big time. I wouldn’t expect an answer for a few weeks.”
Leeza leaned forward. “ Weeks?”
Chandler nodded. “I probably shouldn’t answer for them. Could be less. But that’d be my guess.” He sat there staring at his plate. “You know, there is one other thing we could check. If she did take a drink, she would’ve left a lip print.”
“A what?” Madison asked.
“A lip print. The pattern of the skin on our lips is different, in much the same way fingerprints are individual. It’s not a well-known or often-used forensic, but in certain situations it could be very revealing. And it’s a whole lot faster to do than DNA.” He picked up the phone again, dialed Palucci, and asked him to dust the can for a lip print as well.
“You know,” Madison said after Chandler had hung up, “when I saw her in the market, she had a six-pack in her cart.”
“Why didn’t you mention that before?” Chandler asked. “That’s a very important detail to leave out.”
“I didn’t think of it ’til just now.”
“Do you remember the brand?”
“The cans were gold and black, with some white on them, I think,” he said, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to recall their appearance.
“Millstone Draft?”
Madison pointed at Chandler. “That’s it.”
“Why is that so important?” Leeza asked.
“If we can find someone else who saw that brand of beer in her cart, and at least one of the beer cans has her lip print on it as well as saliva that contains her DNA, then we’ve got a very strong case for them having accused the wrong person.”
Chandler gave Madison’s shoulder a squeeze. “The good guys are starting to make a comeback.”
Chandler met with Hellman later in the afternoon and informed him of what he had set in motion. Hellman was as enthusiastic as Chandler. His mind was miles ahead on the legal details, mentally preparing the pre-trial motions as they spoke. Chandler also told him that Bill Jennings was on the case and that they’d had problems in the past.
Hellman looked up from his legal pad. “What kind of problems?”
Chandler recounted the history of the case in Sacramento and its effect on their relationship. “He took it very badly. He behaved like an asshole and then wasn’t enough of a man to admit it after the fact. We ran into each other one day when I was downtown, seeing Phil, actually, for an exam-and he said that he’d heard about what had happened to my back. Called me a cripple and said that I deserved it for making his life miserable.”
“You think he’s still got it out for you?”
“I haven’t seen or spoken to him in years. Unless he went through an epiphany, he’s not one to let go of something like that.”
Hellman sighed, arose, and stared out his office window. Off to his right were the buildings of Old Sacramento, erected when California was hosting the Gold Rush and forming the beginnings of organized state government. Although he was looking directly at the historical city, he was not seeing it. He was mulling over what Chandler had just told him.
Finally, Hellman turned around to face his investigator. “I don’t think it’ll have an impact on the case. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate, and if he has an ounce of common sense, he’d be reluctant to risk compounding his past blunders with a brand new screw-up in this case.”
Chandler nodded. “I’ll watch out for anything that doesn’t smell right. Last thing I want to do is make Phil’s situation worse because of my involvement. Just the opposite.”
“I’d tell you to get the hell out of town if I thought this posed a real threat.”
With that, they chose to focus on all the positives that had occurred during the day, and what lay ahead: the arraignment in Superior Court.
At the crime lab, Madison was escorted to a tiny room where a technician swabbed his inner cheek with a long, wood-handled Q-tip. As she snapped the top closed over the sample, she explained that she had captured skin cells for purposes of performing a DNA analysis.
Madison knew full well why he was there. It wasn’t just that his DNA was going to be compared to the DNA in the saliva he hoped they would find on the beer cans…it was that his future and fate hung in the balance.