Every Defendant Lies, But So Do Witnesses

I’ve written a number of novels including A Question of Proof or A Question of Proof (Kindle); Star Time: New Version & New Introduction or Star Time (Kindle); and Deeds or Deeds (Kindle); Stalking the Sky or Stalking the Sky (Kindle); and Birthright or Birthright (Kindle). In my novel A Question of Proof or A Question of Proof (Kindle), I wanted my readers to understand what an experienced trial lawyer told me when I was fresh out of law school: Don't expect the truth from any one, not from your witnesses, not from the police, and certainly not from your client. No one ever tells the whole truth. Everyone always has something to hide. A witness might claim the defendant stole the money because he did it himself or because he was supposed to be watching the cash register but had gone to see a girlfriend or because he was bribed. A defendant, even an innocent one, may be protecting a friend she believes committed the crime or may be hiding an affair. At one point I even thought of calling the novel False Witness. 

Here's how Dan Lazar, the protagonist, explains it: 

"Believe me, every client lies. If not outright lies, then murky areas the client tries to keep that way. During the trial you'll do and say anything to save yourself—it's your sole priority, and that's natural. You'll cover things up to me, to the judge, to the jury. Everything you've vowed to me—all that 'truth'—could get shredded into confetti."

"I'm innocent. I have nothing to fear," she said fervently. She was staring into his eyes, measuring his love against hers.

He did not reply.

Read more: A Question of Proof or A Question of Proof (Kindle). bit.ly/PojdHz

The Mystery at the Heart of a Mystery

In writing my novel A QUESTION OF PROOF, I wanted to create a formidable mystery at the dark heart of the novel that would lurk undiscovered until the end.  The trial of Susan Boelter was intended to expose the answer to the mystery: "Did she kill her husband?" It's a simple question, but in A QUESTION OF PROOF, as in real life, no outsider, no one on the jury, not even the prosecutor, ever truly knows whether the defendant is guilty. And as in real life, the novel's twists and turns, new evidence, lying witnesses, are all part of the process of getting at that final immutable answer to a question of proof.

Here’s an excerpt:

Dan’s feet swung down. "Damn it, Cal, I don’t know who she is. She says her husband was alive when she left the house, and not a shred of evidence backs her up. Last night, I ran into someone who . . . knew her slightly at college. He wasn’t sure, but he had this vague recollection that she was one of the great party girls at Bryn Mawr. I mean a top student, editor of the paper, but wild. Does he have her pegged right?"

“It sure doesn’t jibe with the impression she gave us of her college years."

“Who the hell is she, really? The gracious lady of high society or a desperate adventuress who’d seduce her estranged husband, period and all? To meet her socially, all that virtue, it knocks you off your feet, but is it a front? In bed there’s all the lust a man could want."

"Cal’s eyebrows rose. 'No wonder you refused a fee."

"I took her case because I believed her. Now I don’t know what to believe."

Read more: A QUESTION OF PROOF bit.ly/PojdHz

Criminal Trials Are Not About Discovering the Truth

Surprised?  In my novel, A QUESTION OF PROOF, the trial is to determine whether Susan Boelter killed her husband Peter Boelter, a cynical, callous, charming newspaper publisher. I tried to show the reader that a trial is really a contest between opposing attorneys to present a more plausible version of the facts to the jury. The actual truth, however, proves to be very slippery indeed.

As Dan Lazar, Susan's lover and lawyer, explains it:

"Susan, try to understand. A trial isn't about truth, it's about winning. It's a contest to sway a jury, those twelve people. Everybody says they're after the truth, but they're really after something that will sound true—that will be plausible, whether for yea or nay—to those twelve people. But the actual truth is coincidental. By the end of a trial, if the lawyers on both sides have done a good job, the truth is battered beyond recognition or so disguised in new clothes that no one can really be sure what it is anymore."

Read more:  A QUESTION OF PROOF bit.ly/PojdHz