Also By Rose Connors
Maximum Security
Temporary Sanity
Absolute Certainty
SCRIBNER
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Rose Connors
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SCRIBNER and design are trademarks of Macmillan Library Reference USA, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, the publisher of this work.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Connors, Rose.
False testimony / Rose Connors.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PS3603.O553F35 2005
813’.6—dc22 2005045052
ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-7451-7
ISBN-10: 0-7432-7451-2
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
For Peggy Sharkey
Acknowledgments
Sincere thanks to the literary dream team: my editor, Sarah Knight, and my agent, Nancy Yost.
Thanks also to those individuals who contributed generously to the Cape Cod & Islands United Way in exchange for the right to christen a character.
And finally, thanks to the members of my weekly writing circle: Sara Young, Pauline Grocki, Penny Haughwout, and Maureen Hourihan—wordsmiths one and all.
MASSACHUSETTS RULES
OF PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT
RULE 3.3—CANDOR TOWARD THE TRIBUNAL
(e) In a criminal case, if defense counsel…knows that the client has testified falsely, the lawyer shall call upon the client to rectify the false testimony and, if the client refuses or is unable to do so, the lawyer shall not reveal the false testimony to the tribunal.
Chapter 1
Monday, December 13
A person of interest. That’s what local authorities dubbed Charles Kendrick, the senior United States Senator from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He wasn’t a target of the investigation, they told him. He was merely an individual believed to have information relevant to the search.
And he did. Twenty-five-year-old Michelle Forrester was a member of his D.C. staff. He hired her more than three years ago, just after she graduated from the University of Virginia with dual degrees in government science and drama. An ambitious and disarmingly attractive young woman with obvious political aspirations of her own, she quickly became Senator Kendrick’s preferred spokesperson. For the past year—while rumors ran rampant about his planned bid for the Democratic nomination—Michelle Forrester alone fielded questions at his frequent public appearances. She enabled the Senator to say his piece at each event and then make a dignified—perhaps even presidential—exit.
This past Thursday, Michelle handled the members of the media after the Senator addressed a standing-room-only crowd at Cape Cod Community College in Hyannis. The evening news featured a poised and charming Michelle entertaining endless inquiries from local reporters, joking and laughing with them easily and often. She stayed until their voracious journalists’ appetites were satisfied, until the last of their detailed and often repetitive questions was answered. She extended Senator Kendrick’s sincere thanks to all of them, for their attendance and their attention, before she left the auditorium.
And then Michelle Forrester vanished.
She was due at her parents’ home in Stamford, Connecticut, the next day to help with preparations for a cocktail party to be held that evening in honor of her father’s sixtieth birthday. She didn’t show up—not for the preparations and not for the party. She was expected back at work in D.C. first thing this morning, her office calendar jammed with appointments from eight o’clock on. She didn’t show there, either. And though her worried parents had been calling both Massachusetts and Connecticut authorities all weekend, it wasn’t until her no-show at work that the search began in earnest.
Postpone it. That’s what I advised when Senator Kendrick called my office at ten A.M. He’d stayed on the Cape after Thursday’s speech, intending to work by phone and fax through the holidays from his vacation home in North Chatham. The Barnstable County District Attorney’s Office called his D.C. number first thing this morning and his executive secretary phoned him right away with the message. It was from Geraldine Schilling—the District Attorney herself—wanting to set up a time when she might ask him a few questions. Today, if at all possible.
Senator Kendrick made it clear to me from the outset that he wasn’t seeking formal representation. He simply wanted to know if one of the lawyers in our office would be available by telephone later in the morning in case he needed a word of advice during his interview. He didn’t anticipate a problem, he assured me more than once. He was calling only out of an abundance of caution.
Twenty-four hours, I told him. Of course you’ll cooperate with the investigation, and of course you’ll do it promptly; time is paramount in these matters. But you shouldn’t speak to the DA—or to any other representative of the Commonwealth, for that matter—without an attorney at your side. He was quick to inform me that he is an attorney—Harvard-trained, he added—whereupon I recited my personal version of the old adage: Never mind the fool; the lawyer who represents himself has a certifiable moron for a client.
Answer questions tomorrow, I urged. Spend this afternoon in my office, preparing, and we’ll go to the District Attorney together in the morning. That way, if her questioning takes a direction it shouldn’t, I’ll be the one to hit the brakes. You’ll remain the willing witness, reluctantly accepting advice from your overly protective attorney.
Senator Kendrick’s laughter took me by surprise. I wasn’t trying to be funny. After a good chuckle, he thanked me for my time. And before I could answer, I was listening to a dial tone.
Chapter 2
“Good of you to join us, Martha.” Geraldine Schilling is the only person on the planet who calls me Martha. And she knows damned well I’m not here to join anybody. Charles Kendrick called me a second time—ten minutes ago, at one-thirty—because he’s worried. And he should be.