Additional pretrial motions were made, fought over, and either granted or rejected. Denton and Warwick sparred repeatedly, with Calvino serving as arbiter in his reputedly restive manner. With the trial scheduled to be followed heavily by the media, both sides were gearing up for the onslaught of public interest usually accompanied by the magnifying glass that Warwick despised, and under which Denton thrived.
Madison’s preparation with Denton lasted four hours, and delved into private corners of his life that even he did not realize he had. The prosecutor explained that if he had this information, then Warwick might have it as well. He had to be ready for just about anything, Denton cautioned.
Later that evening, Madison reiterated his complaint to Hellman that attorneys left a bad taste in his mouth, present company excluded.
Hellman smiled. “You haven’t seen me from the other side’s perspective. I’m no better than any of them.”
CHAPTER 61
Chandler sat reclining on the playroom lounger, Coke in hand, watching the New York Mets lose to the Florida Marlins in the ninth inning. “Unbelievable,” he said as he took his last swig from the can. He slammed his fist down as the replay showed the thundering four-hundred-fifty-foot home run land on the Shea Bridge well beyond the outfield wall. He squeezed his fist hard, crushing the aluminum can. At one of the folds, there was a sharp point that dug into his pinky. He pulled the crumpled container off his hand, examining the punctured flesh where the metal had stuck him.
As Gary Cohen, the Mets’ sportscaster, announced that the Marlins had pulled out a miraculous come-from-behind victory, Chandler noticed something where the aluminum had creased. He stared at the can for a long moment, then turned it over and around, several times.
Denise walked into the room with Noah. “They lost?” she asked, staring at the score. “They were ahead ten minutes ago.”
Chandler was not listening; he was on the phone.
Denise popped a DVD into the player for Noah, then looked at the notes Chandler was scribbling on his pad as he spoke.
He thanked the person on the other end of the phone, and hung up.
“What are you doing?”
Chandler underlined something on the page. “Following up on something.”
Denise looked at him. “Work? It’s Sunday night. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“This isn’t work. Something on Phil’s case.”
“What is it?”
Chandler hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
CHAPTER 62
The jury selection process took three days. Attempting to empanel an impartial group of twelve people who had not seen or read any of the news reports proved more difficult than originally thought. Fortunately, however, much of the pretrial publicity centered around Phillip Madison as a suspect-so, if anything, the bias against Madison was the sticky point for Denton, since the doctor was his prime witness.
Denton’s questions during voir dire, the preliminary examination used by the court and attorneys to select a suitable panel of jurors, were therefore directed toward identifying bias against Madison. As Denton saw it, the worst scenario would be ending up with jurors who still harbored ill feelings toward him, because they would then be less inclined to believe him when he was called as a witness.
The jury that both attorneys ultimately agreed on consisted of seven women and five men. Along ethnic lines, there was one Asian, five African-Americans, one Hispanic, and five Caucasians. Denton liked the mix, while Warwick accepted it with trepidation; he was concerned about the prominence of both the female and African-American representation on the jury, being that the victims were both black, with one being a single mother. Trying to avoid an environment of excessive pity for the victims, he also wanted to buffer his client from misdirected disgust leveled by the jury against the suspect who was accused of the crime. The jury should not convict simply because his client was the one chosen and charged by the prosecutor-and because someone had to pay for the heinous crime that was going to be presented to them.
The jury empaneled and pretrial motions disposed of, Judge Calvino gestured toward Denton; Denton stood and buttoned his suit coat. He had delivered hundreds of opening statements over the years, and was adept at driving home his point by commanding the jury’s undivided attention as he told them with undaunted confidence he was going to prove beyond a reasonable doubt the suspect before them was guilty. Although Madison’s removal as the accused dulled the high-profile nature of the case, it was still rife with controversy; as a result, members of the press filled the courtroom. Denton knew this, and if butterflies could truly be present in one’s stomach, he would have a flock inside his own at the moment.
“That woman-Brittany Harding,” Denton shouted, pointing his finger at her, “is accused of murdering two people. Two innocent people who were unfortunate enough to become unwitting pawns in a plan of cold, calculated revenge. A plan of revenge that was carried out by Brittany Harding against a prominent surgeon, a pillar of the community.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m Timothy Denton, the prosecutor, and I represent the People of the State of California.” Denton strode toward the jury box, his hair freshly trimmed and his face glowing from a recent session at the local tanning salon. His neatly primped appearance, which included a new pinstriped navy blue suit, signaled the importance of this trial to both him and the state. He had begun with intensity chiseled into his brow, but now, as he approached the jurors, his features were softer, his demeanor inviting. They seemed to receive him well, watching him closely as he kept his hands clasped in front of him and focused all of their attention on the content of his opening argument.
He threw a glance at the defendant, then looked back at the jurors. “Brittany Harding,” Denton said, again pointing a short and stubby finger at Harding, who looked away, “is accused of murdering two people. But the story does not begin there. Let’s go back to late August of last year. Miss Harding was a recently hired assistant for a nonprofit organization whose president was Dr. Phillip Madison, a prominent surgeon in the community.
“When the organization’s administrative officer became ill, Miss Harding temporarily took over those duties. Witnesses tell us-as they’ll tell you during this trial-that Miss Harding had difficulty handling these activities. She accused one parent of being responsible for her child’s mental retardation, when in fact it was a genetic defect that was the causative agent. Others reported she was ‘condescending,’ and ‘unwilling to help’ them,” Denton said, reading the witness statements from a legal pad. “But there’s no crime in being ignorant or rude, is there?”
He took a few steps toward the prosecution table, then turned and faced them again. “When Dr. Madison suggested to Miss Harding that she submit an employment application for the administrative officer’s position, a job that she’d taken for granted would automatically become hers, she felt threatened. She thought she was going to be fired, so she manufactured a story in which she claimed that Dr. Madison raped her in his home. And she took this story to the police. She told them he’d raped her. But she didn’t go to the police on the same day that ‘the rape’ allegedly occurred. In fact, she didn’t go a week later.
“Not two weeks later. Not three weeks later. So when did she make this accusation? Five weeks later, ladies and gentlemen. I’m going to show you how she manufactured the entire scenario, and attempted to frame the doctor with rape.
“The police did their work diligently. They repeatedly interviewed Dr. Madison, but they couldn’t gather any evidence to support Miss Harding’s claim. Because no proof of rape existed. But Brittany Harding would not be deterred: she leaked her story to the newspaper, and an article was written without specifically naming Phillip Madison as the accused doctor. The tactic worked. It scared him-if his name had been mentioned, it could’ve destroyed his fine and hard-earned reputation as a top surgeon.