They arrived at the trace evidence lab. Spread across the table top were several photos of the hood and fender of Madison’s Mercedes. Close-ups of detail on the grille, showing clothing fibers and blood, and perspective shots that showed a broader range of location and relationships of one item to another, were cataloged and neatly arranged across the table.
A man was pecking away on the computer near the photos.
“Kurt Gray,” Palucci said, “this is Ryan Chandler. He’s a forensic investigator with NYPD. Used to be a cop with Sacramento PD.”
Gray pried his attention away from the monitor and swiveled his chair around to look at Chandler. A few pimples that decorated his forehead became noticeable as he brushed the hair off his face with his right hand. Moderately deep crow’s feet emanated from the corners of each of his eyes.
“Glad to meet you, Kurt,” Chandler said as he shook his hand.
“Chandler’s working with the defense on the Madison double murder case.”
Gray withdrew his hand. “Oh.”
“I just want to know what’s going on,” Chandler said. “I’m not gonna bust your chops. I happen to know Madison’s innocent, and it’s my job to find things that can help him prove it.”
Gray’s face was contorted with disgust.
“Chandler’s okay,” Palucci said. “You don’t have to worry about him. I’ve known him a long time. It’s okay to answer his questions.”
Gray turned back to his computer and talked toward the screen. “So what do you want to know, Mr. Chandler?”
“I’ve got a meeting to attend,” Palucci said to Chandler, backing away. “I’ll only be a half hour. You need to leave, Kurt’ll be your escort.”
“Thanks, Lou.”
“No problem.”
“You can drop the mister,” Chandler said to Gray. “My friends call me Chandler.”
“I don’t mean to state the obvious,” Gray said, “but I’m not your friend. What is it you want to know?”
“Have you completed an analysis of the clothing fibers?”
The criminalist continued working the keyboard. “Yes.”
Chandler waited for further information, but after a few seconds it was obvious that none was forthcoming. “What did your analysis show?”
“The fibers that we pulled off Madison’s car were an exact match to those in the clothing that the victims were wearing. An exact match. And there’s a report in the file that says the blood spatter under the chassis of your client’s Mercedes is consistent with the blood type that was found in the tire marks near the male victim. I guess your boy was in a hurry.”
Chandler could tell that Gray had already concluded that Madison was guilty based upon the physical evidence. “My boy is one of the most well-respected orthopedic surgeons in all of northern California. My boy also happens to be innocent.”
Gray did not reply. His eyes remained fixed on the monitor, his fingers working the keys.
“What else do you have?”
“The interior of the car was dusted for latents. Madison’s prints were the only ones found.”
“It was his car. And the driver could’ve been wearing gloves.”
“Right.” He had still not taken his eyes off the screen.
Chandler looked at the monitor, then swung his gaze back to Gray. “Have you finished your report?”
“It’s not my report. Saperstein, the other criminalist, has some kind of bleeding ulcer and he’s laid up in the hospital. The boss threw the file on my desk and told me to get the report out ASAP. So that’s what I’m doing. Or trying to do. If you’d leave me alone for a few minutes…”
Chandler frowned. “Fine. I’ll wait for Lou to get out of his meeting.”
“Then have a seat over there,” Gray said, nodding at a chair next to a desk in the comer of the room. “I can’t let you out of my sight.” He looked away from his computer screen for the first time and grinned. “Regulations.”
“No problem,” Chandler said, walking across the lab and sitting down on the chair. He picked up a newspaper as Gray turned his attention back to the report. The Sacramento Herald headline at the bottom of the front page was bold: “Police Commended for Quick Arrest in Doc Murders.” He read on. “Confirmed sources indicate that evidence continues to mount against Sacramento orthopedic surgeon Phillip Madison in the hit-and-run double murder of one week ago. The source stated that an announcement was expected within the next couple of days that could likely seal the coffin of the prominent orthopedist even before his trial begins…”
Chandler threw the paper down. He hated this “confirmed sources” garbage. If people had something to say, they should put their names to it. If they were not prepared to put their names to it, they should not say anything. Many a lie had been couched behind the veil of a “confirmed sources” quote. Sacramento was much better off when the Bee was the only paper in town. When the Herald burst on the scene a dozen years ago, it brought shoot-from-the-hip journalism to California’s capital.
Chandler rubbed the small of his low back. There has to be something that can clear Phil. But what?
Twenty minutes later, Palucci returned just as Gray was completing his report. Chandler took his friend aside, out of earshot of anyone in the lab, and asked if he could see the file.
“You can ask questions, but I can’t let you see it. I’m already sticking my neck out in letting you come in here.”
“Just let me take a quick look. I’m only out here for a few days, so anything that can help me be more productive during that time is important.”
Palucci sighed and looked at Chandler’s pleading eyes. “You sure this guy is clean?”
Chandler nodded. “Absolutely. You know who he is?”
“No, and I don’t want to know. We just do our jobs the best we can, no matter who-”
“Hey, you’re talking to me, Lou, not some idiot bureaucrat. You don’t need to bullshit me.”
Palucci picked the file up off the desk. “Why don’t we grab a bite in the cafeteria,” he said, leading the way out of the room.
Chandler bought lunch, a couple of cellophane-wrapped tuna sandwiches and Cokes. “Godawful food here,” Palucci grumbled as he chewed the first bite of his sandwich. “That’s why I bring something from home or go out.”
Chandler did not hear a word he had said; he was scanning the various forensic reports, growing more dismayed as the evidence against Madison mounted. He felt the knots tightening down in his intestines. The war had begun, and it was beginning to look like the worst enemy would be the physical evidence against his client.
“Chandler, eat your sandwich,” Palucci was saying.
“Huh?”
“Eat.”
“This food’s garbage.”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
“No. Sorry.” He mumbled something to himself, then said, “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I haven’t seen the file,” Palucci said. “But the forensics don’t usually lie.”
“In this case they have.” He shuffled the papers in the file. “Get the police report yet?”
“If it’s not in there, it hasn’t come through. Either that, or it’s sitting in a bin waiting to be filed.”
Chandler glared at his friend.
“No, I’m not gonna go hunting through the secretary’s desk for it.”
A moment later, Chandler closed the case folder. “Thanks for the sneak preview.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
They smiled and shook hands as Chandler rose from his seat, then threw his sandwich in the trash on the way out. He had no stomach for eating.
CHAPTER 14
Chandler spent the last hour of the afternoon reviewing his notes, then unpacking his clothing and shoving it into the dresser in Madison’s guest room. He called Denise, talked to Noah, and apologized for not being there for his first soccer game. He was supposed to be coaching the team, a responsibility he had to bow out of at the last minute due to his unexpected trip to California.